


School Spirit

by CFM (Catatonic)



Category: Back to the Future (Movies), The Frighteners (1996)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, crossover AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:19:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2118285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catatonic/pseuds/CFM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(initially written 2K13) Based around a request of having to produce a story involving three *certain characters</p>
            </blockquote>





	School Spirit

He stood at the mirror, bloodshot, broken and quite ready for another drink. Sipping the whiskey abnormally slow, fingering his recently acquired stitches, Frank Bannister slipped into thought; of his relationship fraught with vapours; and time and misunderstanding. The external wounds weren't healing as cleanly these days, nor nicely what with minimal energy left in store to heal the internal ones. Mr. Bannister just wasn't feeling up to usual activities this morning—he did feel up to usual activities most mornings but not every morning found him naked, bleeding and his best trousers at the cleaners. Now that the Lynsky woman could see spirits too, Frank's only breathing companion had taken to visits with her deceased husband. Yes. Frank wondered if they 'did it'. He had once read that it was feasible, right place, right time.  Frank threw himself face down into the flower adorned mattress. Although he hadn't any clothing to cover himself, Frank didn't bother to plug up the drafty window pane.

An azure little cyclone began to ebb in the corner of his bedroom, out of which appeared friend Stuart. Frank let out a groan and flipped over to give the spectre a disapproving glance.

“Can't you me leave me to my privacy?” asked Frank, perturbed by the ghost's presence.

“Frank,” said Stuart sounding matter-of-factly.

Frank hadn't considered the message with severity and deemed response with the word “great.”

“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself, Frank. You know there's more to life than groaning and reprieving.” He floated still. “Trust me. Death is a lot tougher than you think, Frank. even if you do know more about it than the average person—living person that is.”

Frank's dresser drawers flung open with all violence. Spirits didn't need to touch an object to create a force upon it. Articles of bedraggled clothing were dancing through the air and before Frank could utter another groan, he was clothed. Even his shoes laces had been tied taught.

“Come along, sleepy head. I have something to show you!” Stuart spoke gaily.

Frank squinted his eyes at Stuart. “I'm out of bed and dressed. What more do you want?”

Stuart only rolled his eyes, shaking his head, amused but disbelieving.

The living man stood in the centre of the foyer and the cold alumni slapped a newspaper down on the entry table.

“There!” shouted Stuart enthusiastically.

Frank sighed tiredly. “Specifics, Stu.” He apprehensively eyed the spirit. “Is this about the plumbing fiasco?”

Stuart reached for the untucked ends of Frank's shirt and mindlessly wiped his spectral spectacles upon the fabric. “Memory lapses, Frank. You know I've been battling those darn memory lapses.”

“Yeah. Ever since you died.”

“And this jacket?”

“I know, I know. You forgot where it was you graduated.”

“ _And_?”

“Where--” Frank paused, “You died,” he finished slowly.

 “Hill Valley Higher Learning,” he pointed to this paper, “nineteen hundred and fifty-two! I was thinking, Frank, if we were to go there—to Hill Valley California—maybe it would all come back in full!” Stuart became bashful at his own enthusiasms. “If I ran that old track again, it may just 'jog' my memory banks!” He chuckled old-fashionably.

“Ah, God! I need a drink!” Frank went into the kitchen. Clutching the decanter, he came back into the foyer with renewed spirit. “I guess I owe it to ya, Stu. You've been a tremendous help to me, pal and, well, now it's my turn.”

Frank grabbed the keys from the entry table, continuing to milk the decanter. The ghost twirled into the ceiling, disappearing; he reappeared at the open front door. Frank started the car. Stuart clicked his heels jauntily before contorting himself into the shape of the rickety Volks' trunk.

***

Frank stared down at the poorly plotted map.

 

 


End file.
